STRIPED BASS IN THE SUSQUEHANNA 



161 



to the striped boys. That line of yours 

 won't do, Bill. Here's a reel with the 

 right stuff all loaded. Two hundred 

 yards of it." 



From his kit he dragged forth a 

 sturdy multiplier that was keyed up to 

 G-flat and sang like De Reszke. It was 

 literally forced upon me. I couldn't 

 refuse. "That'll hold 'em for a while 

 anyhow," he continued while he pieced 

 out a ten ounce split bamboo with top 

 and bottom line guides. "Sure to get 

 a big one to-day, Sport; and there'll 

 be a fight sure. Do you know — " he 

 dropped the tip of his pole on the 

 porch and with a look of mysterious 

 intelligence in his eye concluded, "not 

 over a dozen men on earth have fished 

 for the striped bass in this river since 

 they were discovered here. Why even 

 the lobsters on the other side of the 

 stream don't know what we're doing 

 when we get out in the pools. Sure. 

 It's virgin water and the best of the 

 kind within a hundred miles of New 

 York." 



"Then it's to 'be kept a secret," I 

 ventured, fixing my borrowed reel in 

 the socket. 



"Not in a million years. Can't be 

 kept a secret. Be all over the country 

 before the season's over. And it ought 

 to be. I don't take much stock in the 

 lone fisherman. Spread it, old man. 

 Spread it." 



At that moment the florid person, 

 having exhausted his wrath on Irwin 

 and being altogether sore at the pros- 

 pect of walking back over the same 

 route, came up and sank, puffed out 

 and tired on the grass near by . 



"Every fisherman on earth is a d — d 

 fool. I want to get down on the rec- 

 ord right now as dead against any and 

 all kinds of angling that involve walk- 

 ing. I can stand trains and buck- 

 boards and even flat bed farm wagons, 

 but this galloping over plowed fields is 

 poor sport." 



Irwin snorted with glee and "the 

 man who knew" made some observa- 

 tions about "chumps from town." 



Heavy footfalls sounded from with- 



in the Irwin house and presently three 

 strapping youths came lumbering out 

 of as many doors. Heirs to the old 

 man's estate. Guides on the river. 

 Boatmen who knew where the striped 

 bass lurk in the shadow of the river 

 boulders. These were the men to con- 

 duct us to the conquest. 



"Well, boys," put in the sire, ex- 

 tracting a cud of long cut from a tin 

 foil package and tucking it into the 

 off side of his face, "git out them boats 

 and git in motion. These gentlemen 

 want some sport and this is the place 

 to git it. How 'bout that bait ? Guess 

 it's fresh all right. I got in six hun- 

 dred yesterday from New York. Git 

 it up." 



After all is said and done so far as 

 angling is concerned, bait is a matter 

 of no little importance. I hadn't given 

 the subject much thought in the pres- 

 ent instance. Somehow or other I had 

 figured out in a vague sort of way that 

 the bait would turn up at the proper 

 time. Had I been alone on the banks 

 of the Susquehanna far away I might 

 have tried every kind of lure but the 

 right one and remained Ashless to this 

 day. 



And this brings me, gentle angler, to 

 the pith and heart of the Susquehanna 

 secret. It's the greatest in the world. 

 Without it there is no hope of a strike, 

 no, not the remotest chance that the 

 great black and gold eyed prizes will 

 ever so much as sniff the hook. Come 

 nearer, angler folk, and the Sphinx 

 will speak : 



Use blood worms. The secret is out. 



Get them from the salt, salt sea. 

 Keep them alive in the fresh kelp that 

 comes and goes with the tide. Never 

 go to the Susquehanna with less than 

 200. Strip from six to ten on your 

 hook; leaving a few squirming tails 

 waving off the main line. Bunch 'em 

 up and with a prayer for good luck 

 cast your tackle overboard and put 

 yourself in the hands of the boatman. 



A thin mist of sun -rise vapor is 

 rising across the overflow through 

 which one must row to reach the pools. 



